I coughed even as my eyes watered, stinging with the smoke and heat. Time to go.
I tucked the kitten into my robe pocket, tossed the makeshift rope out the window, and then sat myself on the ledge. It still looked like a long way down. I gripped the sheet and gave it a tug.
It didn’t move. I yanked it harder, and it pulled free.
Horrified I stared at the loose end. I’d have to tie it again. Looking back, I saw the door to my room glowing, the outline of it a terrifying orange.
Just then the first emergency vehicle arrived. I sighed in relief.
Rescue was here.
They even brought the trampoline which, as a big girl, I’d been avoiding my entire life. With good reason as it turned out because when I hit it, I bounced. Arms and legs splayed, I flew from the protection of it, right into a fireman, knocking him to the ground.
My hefty frame squashed him, with my robe riding up over my copious ass, showing off my granny panties. It was the picture that made the local paper.
4
I had to find a new place to live and not just because of the embarrassment of having an image of my ass distributed to everyone in the town. The house had burned to the ground. A complete loss, along with everything in it.
Overnight, I became homeless. Quite literally. It came as no surprise my soon-to-be ex-husband had cancelled the insurance on the place to save a few dollars. The property was practically worthless now. Sure, we’d get something for the land, but the real value had been in the home.
The realization hit me as I sat on the sagging motel bed that while the judge had ruled Martin had to pay me alimony, between it and my low-paying job, I still couldn’t afford to stay here long. I had to find somewhere else.
The question being, where?
I didn’t have more than a few hundred dollars and the car to my name, which thankfully had been parked in the driveway, a spare key hidden in one of those magnetic boxes stuck inside a wheel well.
All my clothes, personal effects—especially pictures of my kids growing up and my grandma—were gone. I’d gone from thinking I’d lost everything to truly losing everything. Was this a sign I should just give up?
Despair had me hunched in on myself.
Why did life have to kick me in the face when I was already down?
I’d been trying so hard. And now this. I couldn’t handle it. I couldn’t—
“Meee-uuu.” Grisou sat at my feet and cocked his head.
I glanced at the furball that saved my life because had he not woken me I would have succumbed to smoke inhalation. For a moment, that evil monster inside me said maybe it would have been better.
“Shut up,” I mumbled. I wasn’t giving in to that nasty voice. Yes, this was a setback, but I’d survive. I just needed a plan.
“What are we going to do?” Again, a question my cat couldn’t exactly answer.
I had a list, starting with calling my daughter and begging a place to stay. Our conversations had been getting better of late. We were off to a promising start, closer than we’d been in years. So why did I dread calling to tell her about the fire? Why didn’t I want to ask for help?
Easy. I didn’t want to ruin what had blossomed. It was too fragile to handle my midlife crisis. I couldn’t turn to her. Leaving who?
Martin was aware of what had happened. He’d shown up while the house burned, fully dressed and none too pleased when he saw me. He’d not been concerned about my welfare one bit but more how this would affect the divorce.
“I can’t believe you burned it down,” he’d snapped. “Half of that house was mine, and now it’s worthless.”
Did he seriously think I’d done this?
I didn’t dare admit I thought it might be my fault. Surely the letter I’d set on fire hadn’t caused the fire.
“If you ask me, I think you did it. Couldn’t stand the fact the judge was on my side, so you tried to burn it down with me inside of it,” I snapped, overcome by guilt. It seemed ridiculous until I said out loud. Had Martin tried to kill me?
Once I would have said no, and yet the ugly side of him had only grown since our separation. Who knew what he was capable of? After all, he’d told me it would have been easier if I’d died.
For a second after my statement, his eyes widened and his mouth worked, but no sound came out. Eventually he spat, “Is this how you think you’ll win in the divorce? Accuse me of trying to murder you so you can walk away with everything? Think again, bitch.”
“Don’t call me names.”
Rather than listen, he streamed a litany of nasty things at me, including the C word.
As he ranted, weariness tugged me. My eyes still stung from the smoke, my lungs ached, and my spirit was bruised. “Go away, Martin.”
“Oh, I plan to but not before reminding you that this changes nothing. You’re not getting more money out of me because you’re homeless. As a matter of fact, I’m going to ensure my lawyer takes the value of the home you ruined into consideration when we settle.”
“Go suck on a cactus.” I leaned my face on my knees and ignored him.
Thankfully he left before I really lost my mind. I wasn’t feeling kind. As a matter of fact, I finally understood why some people resorted to violence when frustrated. I wanted to break something. Martin’s face would have been satisfying. Instead, I remained sitting on the edge of the ambulance until the drivers kicked me out. Since I wasn’t going to the hospital, they were needed elsewhere.
Standing on the curb, I felt like an island with my wool blanket around my shoulders. Neighbors hung out in clusters on their lawns. A few had tried approaching, but I’d hidden my face each time to make sure they went away. Only one got close enough to say, “Can I help?”
Rather than scream, No one can help me, I silently shook my head.
The fire crew tamed the fire, and hoses got wound up and put away. The lone police car remained, lights strobing, the pair of officers already done with me. They’d file a report, and that was that. No crime here as far as they were concerned unless the investigation into the cause of the fire said otherwise.
Squirming in my pocket, a rather impatient kitten poked its head out. He uttered a plaintive meow.
“I know, little one. I’m kind of lost, too.” What should I do? Dawn peaked on the horizon. I’d soon be able to call my daughter and say what?
Hey, Wendy, the house burned down and I have nothing to my name but dirty slippers and pajamas. But don’t worry. I’m fine.
Except I wasn’t. Why did life keep crapping on me?
My phone, tucked in the cat-free pocket, vibrated as a call came in. It apparently had decided to start working again. Stupid, glitching piece of crap. Pulling it out, I noted, once more, an unknown number on the screen. Seriously?
I’d been getting one or more a day. Annoyed, I’d answered a few times, only there was never anyone there. Just static on the line. Super annoying. I blamed the phone company that recycled numbers much too quickly these days. Obviously, I was on some kind of telemarketing call list.
The phone stopped ringing, and I sighed as I eyed the ruin of my home. “Now what?”
Help came from a local charity group, who arrived in a rusted minivan bearing a bag of clothes. Mismatched and ill-fitting but better than my smoky ruined robe and pajamas. They also set me up and paid for a week at the hotel, plus offered me a box of groceries and the address to the local food bank.